Skipper rolls with punches, digs in for more

Malcolm Knox

THE Wallis Simpson of cricket, Graeme Smith, may be no classical beauty, but he is compelling and charismatic and has a strut that comes from years of successfully achieving his aims.

His batting at Adelaide showed character and concentration in heat that turned faces prematurely pink. He probably didn't expect or, if he was honest, wish to be batting so early. Due to Australia's quick capitulation, Smith had to endure not just a couple of hours but the best part of the day.

When batsmen talk of occupying the crease, usually they mean time. In Smith's case occupation is also in the three dimensions of space. All elbows and knees and bat and arm-guard, he appears to have more than the standard number of limbs. There is something of a big lobster about him as he squats in his domain, watching the bowler over the point of his right shoulder. His knees are bowed out, very wide apart, in what surfboard riders call the poo stance.

That other giant left-handed opener, Matthew Hayden, would never have crouched like this at the wicket in case his waxhead mates saw him. But the wide stance has proved effective for players from Dean Jones to Kevin Pietersen, and so it has for Smith.

Related Content

With the South African captain, form follows function. Smith has his way, and it works. He holds the bat with a closed face, so that a lot of his shots when he is unsure of his timing come off either the inside or the leading edge. This is not a bad method: the former cannon into the ground and the latter screw off randomly to the off-side. It's impossible to set a field for - if Smith doesn't know where his leading edges are going, nor can the opposing captain.

Smith plays the ball right under his nose, giving an exaggerated downward dip of the head on contact. Because of the closed face of his bat, the balls that he does hit cleanly tend to be jammed down and squirted out. His strokeplay has none of the purity of Michael Clarke's, but his shots on both sides of the wicket travel through the field with a kind of runaway topspin and reach the boundary just as surely. He rarely left his crease or played away from his body, and during his innings he gave two examples why. On those occasions when he skipped down to the spinners, he showed a semblance of panic, and he should have been stumped on 46. He hardly left his crease again. On 76, a tired waft at James Pattinson resulted in a narrow escape. He went back to playing only those balls under his head.

Advertisement

Smith is built like a brick outhouse, and bowlers must sometimes feel that they are hurling the ball at one. His batting partners may also feel that they are trying to run around one.

Alviro Petersen, forced to choose between the danger end and the greater danger of his approaching captain, was run out after taking a detour via St Peter's Cathedral.

Smith's physicality, while commanding, only partly explains his presence.

Given the conditions, it appeared inevitable that at least one South African batsman would make runs. As wickets began to fall at the other end, Smith took on the responsibility of being the one. With each setback, the weight on him increased and he seemed to grow in size. With his shirt untucked, his face steaming away under his XXL helmet, he relished the added pressure. Smith is the type of leader who gets elected school captain despite spending much of his life on detention: more like a gang leader than a head boy. He engages visibly, and audibly, with the mood of the game, rather than cruising along in a serene bubble like Hashim Amla or Jacques Kallis.

Petersen might have got his verbs slightly mixed up when he said that onfield chat turns him on, but Smith seems activated in both senses by combat, both turned and switched on. His act, as a youngster 10 years ago, of lifting the veil from Australia's sledging suggested that this is a fellow who enjoys making things harder for himself, and shows his best in just such times.